


Ash & Bile

by TheCatLady



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Twisted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7962487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCatLady/pseuds/TheCatLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vestige shames Mannimarco one last time in Cold Harbour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ash & Bile

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> 'Written with a female Breton Vestige in mind, but any Man or Mer race can apply if you squint, since Mannimarco hates you no matter what you look like >:D No argonian or khajiit ladies though, my apologies for that one, it just wouldn't work!

The King of Worms spat and cursed in agony as another current of violent shocks finished pulsing through his beaten and tormented body. He gritted his teeth hard in anticipation for the next inevitable wave, sweat clinging to his cold clammy skin like oil. The Master only ever allowed for a few seconds between each one, giving Mannimarco only a brief moment’s respite, continuously taunting him into hoping they would stop altogether, and maybe just put him back on the rack for another whipping. Hope was something Mannimarco had given up on, however. He knew it had no place here, not in the forsaken Cold Harbour.

As electricity crackled and the next wave of indescribable pain washed over him, Mannimarco howled. He remembered vowing not to scream, no matter what the Daedric Prince had in store for him, but that arrogant proclamation did not last long much to Molag Bal’s grim amusement. Beaten, flayed, whipped and tortured in countless ways mortals would never even dream of. That was to be his fate, for all of eternity, for even daring defiance. The only comfort for the necromancer was picturing the same horrors happening to the woman who’d foiled his plans at every turn. The Vestige. Picturing her on the table, shrieking and writhing as her body was broken and mutilated over and over, was the only thing that could bring a smile to his face.

Between shocks, Mannimarco heard footsteps approaching the table he was bound to. The Soul Shriven didn’t make that much noise, he found himself noting, and certainly didn’t walk with such purpose in their heavy footsteps. He heard talking, but was in too much pain to even attempt to make out the words. He grunted as he felt someone’s presence loom over him suddenly, and opened his pale eyes to identify the one darkening his table. Fury washed over him as he took in the form of the wretched bitch who was responsible for him being here. She was looking at him curiously, drinking in his situation with her large eyes, an expression akin to pity on her face, which only made him hate her even more, if that were possible.

“You!” Mannimarco snarled through his pain, loudly enough to be heard over the crackling of electricity. “What’re you doing here? Come to gloat over your insignificant victory? Or are you here to add to my torment?”

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” she breathed, frowning at him. “How is that even possible? Why would Molag Bal not kill you for betraying him?”

He laughed bitterly, hatefully. “I’m not alive, nor am I dead. Ignorant swine.” _Molag Bal would never let him die, not after what he tried to do. It was not in the Daedric Prince’s nature to know such mercy._ “But my torment is without end and beyond describing. I am to be an example, a lesson, for all eternity. My only consolation is knowing you’ll know my fate intimately soon enough.”

“Sure likes his flowery words,” someone with a husky voice grunted from behind the Vestige. She pressed her lips into a thin line and her eyes narrowed fractionally, drilling into him, analysing him, enraging him further. What was she hoping to find, the miserable simpleton? Remorse? It was almost enough to make him choke with laughter. How someone like _her_ managed to defeat him will forever be beyond his grasp to answer.

“Go ahead without me,” she announced finally, tearing her eyes away from the King of Worms to look at her companions, who expressed emotions ranging from dismay to disbelief. “I’ll take care of Mannimarco.”

Begrudgingly, either trusting her judgement or not wanting to deny her whatever revenge she had in mind for the troublesome Altmer, the Vestige’s companions shuffled on ahead without her, throwing disdainful looks in Mannimarco’s direction as they passed him on the table. He tried to smirk at them, but the pain no doubt made his lip quirk more of a grimace than a confident display of arrogance. The Vestige continued to stare after them long after they’d done, her strange quietness making him uneasy.

“The embalming tools are somewhere to the eastern wall, if you’re looking to be creative,” he laughed without humour, his heart thudding in his chest. When she did not reply, or even bother to look at him, his lips pulled back over his teeth. “Why are you here? Besides serving to add to my torture? What do you want?”

“I’m here to defeat Molag Bal,” she said quietly, returning her attentions to him, her eyes shining in fierce determination. “And take my soul back from his grasp.”

This time Mannimarco really did laugh. “Still, after all this, you’ve learned nothing. You cannot defeat the Master. Nobody can.”

“I defeated you,” she retorted, fists clenching at her sides. “I can defeat him too.”

“Defeat the Lord of Domination,” Mannimarco shook his head, panting when the shocks were done with him for a moment and his head cleared briefly. “You’re an even bigger fool than I previously thought.” He hissed as his body shook. “Arrogant and egotistical quim,” he bit out at her in pain-filled rage when she continued to stare at him in silence. “You know nothing of what you look to face. I’ll enjoy seeing you tortured for eternity.”

“I could release you, if you wish,” she offered in a whisper, her face softening.

He almost exploded. How was somebody so stupidly naïve even still alive while he, the great Worm King, whose plans and machinations were without flaw, was thwarted? He longed to wrap his fingers around her slender throat and choke the life from her. She was too infuriating to live.

“I killed you,” he reminded her, his tone empty of regret, attempting to vex her into reaching for the dagger at her hip. This could be his only chance to escape eternal torment, and he intended to take it. “I watched you die and I revelled in it, I smiled as my undead servants drank your life’s blood and I reanimated your corpse to do my bidding, like so many others before you. You were pathetic, you were nothing, and you are no different now. Being in possession of a pretty bauble changes nothing.”

His heart leapt to his throat when her hand reached down to her belt. Adrenaline thudding in anticipation, Mannimarco watched as the Vestige plucked something from her belt and moved it towards his face. He began to flinch, until he saw it was vial of some kind. Was she going to poison him, then?

He closed his mouth shut stubbornly as she tried to force the vial between his lips. But he was weak from his torture, and when she held a hand over his nose in an attempt to suffocate him, he opened his mouth to gasp for air and ended up swallowing much of the potion’s vile, grimy contents. Mannimarco jerked his head away from her and tried to spit out as much of it out as he could, but the damage was done and he’d swallowed over half of the liquid without meaning to.

He’d witnessed the stages of all kinds of poisoning before. Some were immediate and deadly, almost a mercy, while some took hours of writhing on a bed, vomiting and excreting faeces and blood all the while. He even knew of one that would wait until the victim fell asleep and made it look natural, and a select few that would only trigger in response to a certain emotion or food. He was a man well versed in death and all its different proses.

Mannimarco waited for the effects of whatever she’d forced him to drink, a lump of horror forming in his throat at the idea of dying in such a tawdry, undignified manner. While he was anticipating his death, the Vestige had other plans in mind. She slowly approached the pedestal at the end of Mannimarco’s table and hit the switch, effectively shutting down the shocking currents altogether. He almost sighed outloud in relief. Almost. He opened his mouth to call her names and inform her that she would regret her weak compassionate heart, but swiftly realized he could not get up off the table. In fact, he couldn’t move any of his limbs at all.

_‘Blood and spite,’_ he cursed internally. _‘She’s given me a paralytic tonic of some kind.’_

“Did you really think it would be so easy?” the Vestige snickered, returning to his side, smiling down at him widely. “That I would really just let you go? Just like that? I thought you were so much smarter than everybody else, Mannimarco.”

“Whatever you’re going to do,” he grunted, clenching his jaw and glaring up at her lividly. “Whatever petty revenge scheme you have in mind, just get it over with, bitch.”

She reached out, lightning quick, and he bared his teeth in anticipation of a punch. Instead, her fingers stroked his sweaty cheek, in an almost affectionate manner. He made a noise of disgust and tried to turn his head away from her, but couldn’t manage even that.

“How can somebody so beautiful be so horrible?” she wondered outloud as she stroked his high cheekbone again. “What happened in your life that made you like this?”

When he didn’t answer, she lowered her face towards his, her expression unreadable.

“What’re you-” he tried to ask, but she covered her mouth with his, interrupting him.

His mind screamed in shocked protest, disgusted. Again, he tried to jerk his head away from her, but like last time, to no avail. She moved her lips against his, slowly and softly at first. Despite his lack of response, she brought her hand up and knotted her fingers in his long ivory hair, pushing her lips against his harder, deepening the kiss against his will. When her tongue entered his mouth, he bit it with his teeth. She pulled back, gasping, lips red with blood, he noted in satisfaction. He tasted the saltiness of it in his mouth and he swallowed it, grinning maliciously up at her.

The Vestige swallowed visibly, and raised her hand to her face to wipe the blood from her mouth. She was undeterred by what he’d done, however. Leaning back down, she licked his cheek, taking in his sweat, his scent, and leaving a small crimson trail in her wake from the wound he’d given her.

“What’re you doing?” he demanded now that he wasn’t being suffocated by her ministrations. “What’ve you given me?”

“What is it you said earlier? Revenge?” she whispered, gripping his chin in her hand almost painfully, forcing him to look at her. “I’m going to fuck you before this toxin wears off, Mannimarco,” she told him slowly, making sure there was no way he could mistake her intentions. “It’s specially brewed for this purpose, something I’ve been wanting to do since I found out you were still alive. Can you feel yourself getting hard under your armour?”

He hadn’t noticed it before, too distracted by her actions earlier. Now Mannimarco was keenly aware of the blood pulsing to his cock against his will, aching to be released from its armoured confines. He snarled at her, seething in silent rage. “I’m going to shame the arrogant, mighty Worm King by having him come inside me, something to bring your pride down whenever you think of it, knowing that despite how much you hate me, you enjoyed this on some level. May you hate yourself for as long as you live.”

“Get away from me,” he demanded, trying fruitlessly once more to move away from her, to get off the table and teleport away from Cold Harbour.

The Vestige took a few steps back from the table, a wicked expression of anticipation on her face, and began to strip her clothes. And despite himself, he watched her. He watched her remove the straps of her weapons, and place them gently on the ground behind her. He watched her carefully and deliberately remove her clothing, swaying her hips gently in an attempt to entice him. His face flushed as he watched her bring one hand up to play with one of her ample breasts, while the other snaked down her belly to play between her nether lips.

“Do you like what you see, Mannimarco?” she murmured, raising the hand that had been between her legs to her mouth, tongue flickering out to taste her own juices. “Do you want to touch me? I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

“To the Void with you, you insipid whore,” he snapped. If it were possible to kill a person just by looking at them, the Vestige would’ve dropped dead on the floor, where she belonged.

Instead, the infuriating woman chuckled, and ceased touching herself. “That wasn’t a no,” she teased, approaching his table again.

Mannimarco swore under his breath as her hands went to unbuckle his armour. The toxin forced him to put up no resistance as he too was stripped naked, laid completely bear for her to see. He hissed as the cool air hit his cock. It was almost painfully hard by this point, thick and flushed, a small pearl of pre-cum sitting on top of the head. Mannimarco refused to show any shame, refused to let her embarrass him. He looked at her defiantly, but she was too interested in the lower part of his body.

Her lips parted as she drank in the sight of him, her fingertips ghosting over his hip bones and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He was aching to be touched by her. His arousal was clouding his better judgement, weakening his resolve even as the rational part of his mind continued to scream and claw the insides of his brain bloody. She reached down his legs, stroking the inside of his thighs, never quite reaching the place he wanted her to.

“Do you want me to touch you?” she asked him politely and casually, as though she were asking if he would like a cup of tea. He sniffed and looked away, incensed by his weakness. He would not give her the satisfaction. He would not. “I could just leave you here,” she offered, removing her fingers from his skin. “Leave you to wait until the toxin wears off and you can leave, whatever pride you have left intact.”

Gods’ damn him. He wanted so badly to tell her to never touch him again, to leave him be, to swear horrible revenge upon her and everyone she loves one day. His spirit was willing, but his body beyond weak. When he opened his mouth to spit and curse her, a pleading noise escaped his lips unbidden instead. The Vestige grinned in a way Mannimarco would always remember and would forever be burned in his mind when he daydreamed of stabbing her to death.

Her fingers swiftly wrapped themselves around the base of his cock and she took the head between her lips, licking the pre-cum off with her tongue and slowly dipping it down the shaft. He hissed in sheer relief, groaning loudly, loathing and loving every second of her sucking his cock. His mind was at war while his body bowed to her will. Every moan and sigh that escaped his throat was without his consent, and eventually, he was too far gone to care anymore. The Vestige took him all the way in her mouth, gagging and releasing him to jerk his slick cock a few times with her hand while her mouth latched itself to his family jewels and concentrated her attentions there.

Mannimarco was close, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. At this rate there was no way he would last long enough to be inside of her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid with a woman, or brought himself this kind of gratification. It seemed so trivial, so unimportant, and his studies and search for power had always been more important. In the haze of his coming orgasm, he couldn’t fathom why. As if sensing an impending ending, the Vestige stopped what she was doing, and he grunted in disappointment. She sniggered and climbed onto the table, looming over him, her body so warm against his cold one, erection pressing against her hip.

“I’m so wet, Mannimarco,” she purred, moving her head down to kiss him for a second time. This time, he did not try to resist or bite her tongue, and instead opened his mouth to allow her tongue access. His lips moved against hers, aching to pull her body closer to his. His tongue played with hers, and when she moved to pull away, he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and licked it softly. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more – the desire he felt for her, or seeing the same desire in her eyes as she looked down at him.

Leaning back, her legs opened wide, she sat on his stomach just above his cock. She hadn’t been lying – he could feel her slick wetness against his skin and it only made him want to be inside her more. She grabbed his hands from where they were laying infuriatingly slack against his sides, and raised them to her breasts, helping him cup them and feel her pebbled nipples against his palms. Mannimarco moaned quietly, revelling in their soft warmth as her eyes closed and her lips parted, leaning her head back and humming. The Vestige shifted backwards and raised herself above his cock. He could feel her wet entrance just out of reach and he made a noise of frustration, willing control of his body once more so he could raise his hips and impale her completely. She stared at him, her hair a mess, cheeks flushed with arousal, and bit her lip.

“Do you want me, Mannimarco?” she questioned, all darkened eyes and husky voice. “I want to hear you say it.”

He moaned something softly under his breath.

“Say it,” she demanded, more forcefully. “Louder.”

He swallowed thickly, looking up at her, hesitating. He was at a precipice looking over the edge. It strangely reminded him of the first time he’d ever picked up a book on necromancy at the academy. A point of no return. Despite how good it felt, it seemed to insignificant in comparison. This wasn’t going to change his life. Was it?

“I want you,” he told her, and he meant it. Whether he would mean it later was an entirely different story. At that moment in time, however, there was nothing he wanted more.

That seemed to be enough for her. She pressed the tip of his cock against her wet entrance and slowly, agonisingly so, slid herself down onto him. He gasped at how hot and wet she was, and how tightly she gripped him, like a warm velvet glove. She grew her head back and moaned loudly as she rocked her hips, gently at first, while gradually picking up the pace punishingly.

He was going mad. He could feel it. The sensation was too good, too much. Her fingernails raked down his chest as she brought herself up and down on him, breasts bouncing with her movements, leaving red scratches in her wake. He whispered and hissed under his breath, lost to ecstasy, completely forgetting who he was, where he was, and more importantly, who she was. It didn’t take long for her to reach her peak. Her moans came in short gasps, her hips rocked harder, and she clenched him tightly as she screamed out his name, surely loud enough for her friends to hear her, wherever they were in Cold Harbour.

He followed her not long after, grunting as the pleasure washed over him, every hair on his body standing on end. She squirmed and squealed with delight as he filled her with his hot seed, he himself completely lost to oblivion. As his orgasm ebbed away, leaving him exhausted and spent, Mannimarco became aware that he could move his hands. Snapped harshly back to reality, he watched the Vestige as she removed herself from him, his still-hard cock slapping wetly against his stomach. She was visibly shaking as she crawled off the table and walked over to retrieve clothes without looking at him.

The Altmer moved his hands, and gradually his arms, and blissfully, sensation came back to his limbs after a few moments and he could slowly and silently pull himself up off the table. His joints stiff and sore, his head pounding fiercely as the last of the toxin’s effects faded away. Mannimarco looked to the Vestige, and saw she had her back to him. His initial instinct was to come up behind her, put a hand around her throat and choke the life from her.

Another, smaller part of him, rebelled against the idea, hated it. He was conflicted, and it infuriated him.

_‘This was what she wanted all along, the slut,’_ he seethed internally, glaring at her naked back as she dressed.

Shame burned his face as he realised the extent of what he’d just done, what he’d been forced to do. He would kill her, for ruining his machinations, his ascent to godhood, and for doing this to him. She would pay dearly, but he knew he was too weak to do it today. As she went to turn around and face him, he summoned what little mana he had conserved and blew her across the room with a forceful burst of energy. She let out a cry of surprise as she hit the stone wall behind her, crumpling to the ground, dazed but alive.

“You, and generations after you, will pay for your weakness, and your transgression on this day,” he swore, more to himself than to her.

When the Vestige looked up, she saw Mannimarco summon a portal through her blurred vision, and without turning to look at her, he disappeared through it.


End file.
